Thursday, July 21, 2011

Where Babies Come From

Dolls In Hospital Awaiting Birth

Audrey and Nolan Taking a Break from
Swimming on Living Room Floor
Audrey and Nolan are playing house right now where they have designated various parts of my house as different rooms, including a hospital where all of the babies that can be naked are naked (see photo) and are awaiting birth.

One of those babies is an American Girl doll (Addy or Addie – I'm not sure how to spell it). Yesterday Audrey's Aunt Laura took her to the American Girl store in Chicago and Aunt Laura brought along Audrey's new American Girl doll (courtesy of Aunt Laura) so Aunt Laura could purchase matching clothes Audrey could share with her new doll, which she named Cindy.

Right now Audrey and Nolan are taking a break after swimming in the living room pool (a layout of blankets). When I asked Audrey why she wasn't playing with both of her American Girl dolls, Audrey explained:

"Well, Addy (Addie) is still in the hospital because I'm not pregnant with her yet."

A little while later I heard her tell Nolan that she was pregnant and that she had to go to the hospital to get her baby. Now Cindy is part of their family.

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Saturday, July 16, 2011

What is a Frooprup?

Zac drinking (probably) Diet Coke
My job as a grandmother is to be an interpreter for my younger grandchildren. I'm usually fairly good at interpreting words they say. But occasionally they trip me up, as you will note in the following conversation.

"Grandma, I'm hungry," Zac sighed with his yiddo (his word for little) puppy dog eyes.

"What do you want?" I asked him.

"Frooprup."

"What?"

"Frooprup."

By this time, I had figured out what he wanted but I wanted him to say it again. "Sorry, I still can't understand what you're saying."

Zac has experienced the frustration of knowing that people don't always understand him, but he knows how to get his point across and he knows how to make me laugh. He sighed again and instructed me to, "Say, Froop."

To which I responded, "Froop."

And Zac completed the instruction: "Rup. Frooprup. There ya go!"

I couldn't resist asking him one more time. "Say that again?"

"Frooprup."

And I got him is Fruit Rollup.

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Sunday, July 10, 2011

The Wisdom of a 6 Year Old Regarding Old Age

Kaden with his younger brother, Zac, playing the Wii
Yesterday my grandson, Kaden, 6, looked at the calendar for a couple of seconds before he announced, "In a week and six days it's gonna be your birthday."

"Yeah, I know," I admitted, knowing that this year would be a landmark year for me. "This year is the year I become old."

Kaden raised his eyebrows and nodded his head up and down. "I know. You're going to be sixty."

"Yeah, that is old, isn't it?" I agreed.

"Yeah!" Kaden said, eyes wide open with amazement. "I'm surprised you're not dead."

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Wednesday, June 22, 2011

One Mom's First Love

As part of the Group Blogging Experience (GBE 2), each member is supposed to write a blog about whatever topic is given for the week. This week's topic is FIRST LOVE.

I could have written about romantic first love (like my crush on John when I was in the fifth grade), or my first love that involved one of the STILL most memorable kisses I've ever received (thank you, Jim), but I'm choosing instead to write about the first time I felt the kind of nurturing love that comes from being a mother.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant (believe it or not, the second it happened, I KNEW I was pregnant, but I didn't find out for sure until three months later), I fell in love with the baby growing inside me.

The first time I felt movement, I was in my Senior English class (yes, I was still in high school), and I was so excited to feel her move inside me that I had to tell somebody. I chose to tell the girl who sat next to me. Though I didn't know it at the time, she too was pregnant.

At around 8 p.m. the night my daughter was born, my husband's mother drove my husband and me to the hospital. Because I was 6 days short of my 18th birthday, and because this was my first baby, the nurses assumed I would be there for several hours, so, after prepping me for delivery, they threw me into a room with my husband – and left, assuring him that we would both have a looooong wait.

Less than four hours later, my (ex – for the past 40 or so years) husband removed my deeply embedded fingernails from his arm and went in search of help for his bloody arm – just kidding – he was concerned that I might actually be delivering NOW!

Keeley was born at 11:57 p.m. weighing in at 6 lbs. 3 oz. I couldn't wait to see her, but when the nurse brought her toward my face, she said, "Aw, look. She has a cute little pug nose, just like her mother." Because of the drugs they administered to me, all I saw was her nose. The focus on her nose created a kind of cloud-like apparition that blurred everything else on her face.

The next day when they brought her to me, I didn't recognize her, because even her nose, surrounded by the rest of her face, looked different when it was actually connected to a face. So, for the first time, I got to see the rest of her – a dark-skinned baby girl with black, curly hair.

Though I would have loved this baby as much as I would have loved my own, I objected to the hospital staff bringing me the wrong baby; mine, after all, was white. They assured me that this baby was my baby and that she WAS white.

When they brought me the birth certificate, I pointed out to them that they had written the wrong date. They assured me that the date was the only thing about which they were sure. The clock in the hospital delivery room had read 12:57. Surely they were wrong about the date. According to the nurse, hospitals don't change clocks to accommodate daylight savings time (wonder if this affects astrological data).

Despite my confusion about this tiny infant's heritage and date of birth, the moment I held her in my arms, I felt the deepest, most loving, and protective rush of love, that I thought my heart, already swollen with wonder and joy, would explode in an effort to allow her entry. I couldn't hold her close enough, and I couldn't bear to be too far away from her.

When the black curls grew out, blond hair sprouted underneath, which was also surprising since my hair color was off-black and I assumed my dark hair genes would override her father's light hair genes. Still, she was a little beauty, and I marveled at her first smile, her first step, her first word, her first everything.

I didn't have much money – I spent every last penny I had paying the doctor and hospital bill, so we didn't have many things, and when she was three years old, after having been read the same books over and over again, Keeley learned how to memorize them. People who met her for the first time thought she was a genius; she turned the pages at exactly the right moment.

Her little spirit was a joy to be around, because she was extremely inquisitive and very funny. If blogging had been around back then, she would have given her mommy so much material, I'd have never been at a loss for what to write. Her father and I divorced when she was still an infant. Keeley and I became very close, and for 11 years, Keeley was my only child. She was also a source of delight and inspiration. How could I ever love anybody as much as I loved her?

My mother once told me that before my sisters were born, she wondered how she could ever love a baby as much as she loved her firstborn (me). And then she had two more children. My mom discovered what I and other mothers discover when they have their second child – your heart grows with the birth of each child and you find you have as much love for your second and third (etc.) child as you did for your first.

My oldest baby, my first love as a mom, will celebrate her 42nd birthday in less than a month.  She is still bright and funny and a source of delight and inspiration (as are her brother and sisters and all my grandchildren and great grandchildren).

I think that what amazes me more than anything is that from the moment you experience your first love, you realize that your heart is capable of accommodating all of the loves in your life. You can love someone with all your heart and then discover that you can love others with all your heart as well. Your first love will always hold a special place in your heart, but she will have opened your heart to make room for more loves.

(I would have liked to have posted a photo of Keeley when she was a little girl, but Blogger wouldn't allow it today for some reason.)



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Tuesday, June 21, 2011

How Would YOU Like It?

That red bump on his head did NOT
come from me throwing a shirt at him.
Also, that gift he received on his birthday,
a little fan, was his favorite gift.

Short blog today, but something I don't want to forget:

My grandson, Nolan, turned 4 this month. Every time he opens his mouth lately, I am surprised by what comes out of it.

Just this morning, for example, I pulled out some clothes for him to wear for the day. I thought I was playing with him when, as he sat down on the floor to put on his pants, I flung a shirt in his direction, and it landed on his head.

He got very serious and looked up at me as he straightened his hair with his hands. "How would you like it if somebody threw something on your head? Was that a nice thing to do?"

I was probably supposed to react with the same serious tone as he had, but instead I laughed (sorry, Nolan, I couldn't help it), and then immediately apologized because I saw that this had become a very serious issue for him.

He does NOT like anybody touching his hair, apparently even with a shirt. And he is learning proper manners, something he probably feels I "mussed" still learn.

Stay tuned. With so many grandchildren, somebody is always saying something that makes my blogs.


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Thursday, June 16, 2011

Why I Never Became a Nurse

Growing up Catholic in the 1950s and 1960s, I was steered toward one of three professions – teaching, nursing, or becoming a nun. For a while I considered nursing as an option. For one reason, I hate shopping for clothes so being a nurse appealed to my (lack of) fashion sense.

Then one day as my younger sisters and I were playing in an area where we shouldn't have been playing (several blocks from our home), my youngest sister, Kathy (who actually is a nurse now), stepped on a nail. I raced to the scene and pulled from her foot the board with a nail stuck in it. My other sister, Cindy, grabbed the shoe and threw it somewhere across the construction site as I screamed, "SOMEBODY HELP ME CARRY HER HOME!"

In a state of panic I grabbed her by her arm pits expecting somebody else – anybody else – to grab her bloody foot and drag her home with me – six blocks away. My friend, Diane, stood calmly by and suggested, "Why don't you just put her on the back of your bike?"

Why didn't I think of that?

Kathy hobbled over to the bike, crying, and I rode her home, watching the blood hit the pavement about every three inches. When we got to the front of our house, I got off the bike and told Kathy, who was trying to balance herself on the back of the bike I had now vacated, to stand still – I would be right back with mom.

Is it apparent to anybody else why I couldn't be a nurse? No, the only one in my family who makes a great nurse in uniform, is my sister, Kathy, who probably would have healed me on the spot if I had been the one with the nail in my foot.

http://www.blueskyscrubs.com/categories/Scrubs/Scrubs-for-Men/


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Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Issues of Control



My 4-year-old grandson, Nolan, a couple of weeks before he turned 4, asked me, "Does God have a controller that makes us walk and talk?" (I discuss that conversation in the blog, God's Control, which you can read by clicking the link.)

Inadvertently, because of that question, he became the catalyst for this week's Group Blogging Experience (GBE 2) blog, because when I learned that the topic for this week was "control," I couldn't help but blog about Nolan's comment.

Nolan was not quite 4 when he asked if God controlled his every move, and I couldn't help but wonder how many adults thought the same way.

At times I have felt that my life was so out of control that somebody else had to be pulling the strings. As a marionette in somebody else's puppet show, I complained about how everything kept happening TO me and about how my circumstances were so out of my control I could do nothing to change them.

My response to Nolan's question, by the way (in case you didn't read the blog), was that WE control our lives by the choices we make. And I firmly believe that to be true, though after I thought about my response, I realized that our choices don't always result in outcomes we anticipated.

That we have a choice helps us feel some measure of control – God did, after all, provide us with Free Will – but despite knowing we control certain aspects of our lives through our choices, we often feel that nothing we do and no choice we make will ever change the negative circumstances of our lives.

And the younger we are the less likely we are to believe that anything good will come out of destructive influences. We see no end to unhappiness. We don't believe that a light exists at the end of the tunnel. We sometimes feel stuck in our current situation, afraid to move forward, and that sense of losing control feels paralyzing. How many of us wish we could press rewind?

To have had the option of pressing rewind on my own personal controller would have prevented words I didn't mean to say from spewing out of my mouth. And pressing fast forward could have prevented me from attending events I didn't want to attend, working at tasks (jobs) I didn't want to perform, or developing relationships with people who disappointed me.

Without the benefit of knowing every possible outcome of each choice I made (though some outcomes should have been obvious), I soon discovered that my choices affected other people, people whose responses to the choices I made I also could not control.

An unplanned pregnancy at the age of 17, for example, turned the lives of everyone around me upside down. I had no idea how many people would be affected by my choice to engage in an activity that would bring forth a child. I could have chosen to not have my baby or to not keep her, but I wouldn't have been able to live with the feelings that accompanied a choice to either abort her or give her up for adoption. Keeping the baby presented problems too, though – mostly financial.

I don't regret having her, but I wish I had been thinking more of her than of myself when I decided to get pregnant.

Words I didn't mean to say, events I didn't want to attend, jobs I didn't want to perform, and relationships that disappointed me, though I thought at the time they "ruined my life," actually contributed to building my character. I am who I am today as a result of all of those words, events, jobs, and relationships.

After a while I learned that I couldn't control my situations, but I could control my reaction to those situations. That lesson – controlling my reaction to situations – took me years to figure out.

"Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans" (John Lennon), and that is exactly what happens to all of us. Though we work incessantly to control our lives with plans to live here, to work there, to visit this place and that, life interrupts our plans, and we have to learn to adjust.

We also have to learn how to give up that need to control, because while we are busy controlling and planning the events in our lives, the world around us changes and those changes transform us – sometimes dramatically – tsunamis, floods, tornadoes, and hurricanes, for example. Anyone who has been personally affected by one of those catastrophes feels control slipping away from them like snow in an avalanche.

Other events make us feel as if the Earth has flipped on its axis too. Death, divorce, job loss, rape, and all kinds of destructive forces contribute to our feeling that we have lost control of our environment and of our lives. We experience our own personal tsunamis as we watch our lives crumble around us.

We learn that we can control nature no more than we can control other people. We can, however, control the way we handle out-of-control situations. Devastation challenges us to become stronger, to weather the storms, and to move on.

Through our choices, we come to realize that we have created our own chaos because of our responses to outside influences. We feel lost and hopeless. But total annihilation presents us with an opportunity for reconstruction, regeneration, and rebirth. That old saying, "When one door closes, another opens" is true if we open our eyes to see the opportunities that await us.

Unplanned teenage pregnancies, failed marriages, poverty, illness, and all kinds of destructive occurrences test our resolve. Like the Phoenix who rises from the ashes, we must pull ourselves out of our despair and rise above our circumstances. We may have lost control of our lives, but we haven't lost our lives.

Every choice we make results in a consequence or a reward. As we mature, we realize that the consequences of our decisions sometimes become rewards – that unplanned pregnancy could bring into our lives a baby that will bring us more love and joy than we ever thought possible. That child might result in grandchildren – more people to love.

I'm not condoning unplanned teenage pregnancy. I think MTV is doing a great job promoting teenage pregnancy all by itself with its "16 and Pregnant" television series. I wonder how many teenagers, even after witnessing the struggles involved in becoming a pregnant 16-year-old, would like to be part of that reality program? But that's another blog.

In the nearly 60 years I have been living, I have learned that as much as I would like to control other people, I cannot, because they make their own decisions. Whether they are my family or my friends, I have no control over their decisions – I have control only over my own.

And so I allow my personal controller to sit on "play." As the events in my life unfold, I deal with them, sometimes not well, but I deal with them.

Would I really want to control my life so much that I had the ability to fast-forward through my life? No, because I would miss valuable lessons that taught me how to become "me". To "know myself" takes time. When disruptive events cause me to feel I've lost control of my life, I discover who I am by how I handle those events.

If I could press rewind, knowing what I know now, I might discover that I would still marry the men I married, because they gave me the children I love. That pervert who took advantage of me at one of my former jobs benefited me, because I learned – eventually – how to stand up for myself and for others because of him.

Every challenge I've experienced teaches me who I am through the way I handle it. I might hold the controller in my hand, but the only things I can control are the choices I make.

So I will continue to press "play" until one day God or life itself presses "stop."



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